Please welcome to the blog a personal favorite that I'm shocked has never been here before, Erin Quinn. She's here to talk about her new release The Three Fates of Ryan Love.
Enjoy the Chat!
- ISBN-13: 9781476727493
- Publisher: Pocket Books
- Publication date: 1/27/2015
- Format: Mass Market Paperback
- Pages: 384
Overview
Two star-crossed souls discover that their fates are intertwined—for better or worse—in the second book in the Beyond series of paranormal romances that began with The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love.
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Winner's Choice Click HERE for Erin's Booklist
Please us the Rafflecopter form below to enter
Open Internationally!
Thanks Erin
Good Luck!
Read an Excerpt:
The Three Fates of Ryan Love
Ryan heard the first of the sirens as he turned into the home stretch of his run. He ran most every night after he closed Love’s, the bar he owned with his two sisters. The exercise usually cleared his mind, but not tonight. A storm had started brewing as he’d clocked the first mile and the kind of cold that was indigenous to the desert seeped beneath his skin and made old wounds ache. The glowering sky pressed down on him, sinister against the excessive Christmas lights twinkling merrily around every palm tree and the festive banners that snapped in the bitter wind. Instead of clearheaded, Ryan felt chased.
His German shepherd, Brandy, ran at his side, ears up and swiveling. Even she didn’t seem to be enjoying the ritual as much as usual.
Glad when Love’s came into sight, Ryan slowed his steps and tried to catch his breath. The sirens were closer now and a police car flew past to join more flashing lights about a block down the street. It was after two in the morning, but Mill Avenue near Arizona State University never really slept. Probably drunks out causing trouble. Maybe even the three he’d thrown out of Love’s that night. They’d left him with a bruised face and sore ribs.
Watching through the spitting rain, Ryan cut across an alley and into the parking lot behind Love’s. That’s when he heard the woman scream.
He spun to face the nook between the south wall of Love’s and the cinder-block barrier that hid the side door to the kitchen. He peered into the dark recess, sure that’s where the sound had come from, but nothing moved. Brandy’s ear swiveled as she barked, trying to sniff and see everything at once. She didn’t seem able to pinpoint the scream either.
The next scream echoed around him at the same time pressure filled the space behind his ears and made him feel unbalanced. He stumbled back as lightning flashed and a tremendous bolt snapped down right in front of him. When he looked again, a woman sat inside the small, sheltered alcove with her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. Seconds ago, only darkness had waited there. Long, dark hair gleamed under the muted light, spilling over her shoulders and hiding her face. Her skin had an alabaster sheen. There was a lot of it, too. He frowned. She was naked.
With a hand signal for Brandy to sit, Ryan wiped the rain from his face and approached her cautiously. The walls and awning shielded her from the rain, but not the cold. She shivered violently as he crouched down in front of her.
“Hey,” he said in a soft voice. “How’d you get here? Are you okay?”
She looked up with wide, clear eyes as blue as a desert sky. Even in the dark the color was vivid and they shimmered with something he couldn’t begin to define. Long lashes the same rich shade as her hair framed them and accented their luminescent glow. They tilted at the corners, catlike. The dark wings of her brows drew focus to the shape of her face, the smooth line of her nose, the dusting of freckles that covered it.
He dropped his gaze and saw a raw scrape on her shin, another up high on her thigh. A third marred her shoulder. He thought of the sirens and police he’d heard. Was she involved in whatever had been happening?
“Ryan?” she whispered, chasing that thought right out of his head.
The sound of his name on her lips raised the hairs at the back of his neck, somehow trumping everything else. Like who she was, what she was doing here stark naked in the middle of the night.
“You know me?”
He peered into her face, sure he’d never seen her before.
“You’re Ryan,” she said with more certainty.
Her gaze shifted to something behind him. Ryan looked over his shoulder to find Brandy right at his heels with perked ears and a wet, wagging tail, watching the woman. The woman stared back at his dog with what Ryan would swear was wonder.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Sabelle,” she replied, still watching his dog.
Brandy got down on her belly, inching closer in the most unthreatening manner a ninety-five-pound German shepherd could manage.
“Where are your clothes, Sybil?”
She shook her head, pulling her gaze from Brandy to look him in the eye. “S’belle,” she corrected. “Not Sybil.”
“S’belle,” he pronounced carefully. “Why are you naked?”
A hot flush turned her skin pink a second before she lied. “I don’t remember.”
She shifted with agitation and Brandy made a sound low in her throat. Not aggressive. Consoling. The dog had managed to army-crawl close enough to put her big fluffy head on the woman’s lap. Sabelle’s lips parted as she settled her fingers on Brandy’s silky black ear.
She shivered and goose bumps rose on her skin. Ryan quickly reached over his head and pulled off his shirt. It was warm from his body, but damp from the rain. It would cover her, though.
“Here, put this on,” he said, handing it over.
She accepted it, fingering the soft fabric before she pressed it to her face, smelling it. The action was so surprising that at first all he could think to do was mumble, “Sorry, it’s all I have,” while hot embarrassment flooded his face.
“It smells like you,” she said.
Like it was a good thing.
His mouth opened but no words came out. He lowered his eyes while she pulled the shirt over her head. When he looked back, she was covered, thank God. His shirt was huge on her. The shoulders drooped to her elbows and the long sleeves hid her hands.
She huddled in it, her gaze roaming his face, lingering on the cut over his nose, the puffy skin on his cheek, and his swollen jaw. He almost felt the quicksilver stare on his bare chest and bruised ribs. He must look like a big, ugly thug to her.
She had bruises and scrapes of her own. He could only hope that her wounds had come from something less violent than his had.
“What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?” he asked.
“No,” she said with a definitive shake of her head.
“You screamed.”
“I didn’t expect it to be painful.”
“You didn’t expect what to be painful?”
She flinched at his sharp tone. “Coming here.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Here—in the parking lot in the middle of the night—wasn’t anyplace she should be, but she’d obviously been hurt, was probably in shock. She might not even know where she was. He dug his phone out of his pocket and leaned in so the rain running down his back wouldn’t get it wet as he dialed 911.
The storm picked up its pace, hitting the asphalt with such force that raindrops bounced and pooled, pounding the awning overhead with fury. Storms moved fast in Arizona, but this was insane.
“Who are you calling?” she asked.
“The police. They’ll—”
She snatched the phone out of his hand and hit the screen repeatedly until the ring cut off.
Ryan’s mouth was open again. “Okay, now it’s getting weird.”
“No police,” she said. “What time is it?”
When he didn’t answer immediately, she repeated the question sharply.
“I don’t know. Two, three in the morning?”
Her eyes rounded and she scrambled to get her feet under her. “We need to go. Now, Ryan.”
She stood, long legs protruding from his big shirt. Her hair brushed her shoulders and impatiently she swiped it back. Standing as well, Ryan reached out to steady her as she swayed.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured gently. “Slow down. Take a breath. You’re safe now. Let’s get the police here. They’ll get everything worked out.”
“No police,” she insisted. “They can’t help.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Neither could he. “Can I have my phone back?”
She turned and started out of the shelter.
“Wait,” he said. “Sabelle Whoever-You-Are. Wait.”
She seemed more alert, more focused, but she’d obviously hit her head. She tucked her arms tight, hands jammed under her pits and head bent as she gingerly picked her way through the glass, gravel, mud, and puddles covering the parking lot, ignoring him until she stepped on something sharp and gasped.
“Hold up. Would you stop?” he said, exasperated. “Let me help you.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the back door before she could protest. She wasn’t a big woman, but she was lush with all the right curves in all the right places. She felt solid against his chest and soft in ways that played games with his traitorous thoughts and made him glad for the bracing rain. Brandy escorted them like a devoted admirer, her wet nose brushing Sabelle’s feet whenever the dog could reach them. Ryan paused before opening the door, half convinced he was making a big mistake. This was the kind of thing you saw on the news where some dumb putz just trying to help ended up accused of wrongdoing.
He jockeyed her weight as he fumbled his keys from his pocket into the lock. Sabelle tightened her arms around him, pressing all those feminine curves closer as Ryan tried valiantly not to notice.
Darkness clustered just inside and obscured the stairs all the way up. The rain boomed against the roof and the cold made plumes of their breath. His skin felt icy.
Except where he held Sabelle. She was like a furnace heating his bare chest.
The door slammed shut behind them as Ryan hit the lights and set Sabelle on her feet again. She continued to hold on to him, staring into his face as if to memorize his features. For all her crazy talk, her eyes looked clear and focused in the dim glow.
Then she twisted away and started up the stairs to his apartment without asking or waiting for an invitation. With a muttered curse, Ryan started to follow, but fingers of disquiet played down his spine, making him pause.
The area under the stairs to his apartment served as storage for cases of beer and other supplies. A door straight ahead made a convenient back entrance to the bar, just as the door behind him was a quick shortcut to the parking lot. Usually the stairwell smelled of cardboard, hops, and old french fries. Familiar, comfortable odors that lingered in most bars. Tonight a whiff of rotten eggs hung over it.
Sabelle was already at his front door, waiting. He’d figured out what smelled after he dealt with her. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and let herself in before he made it up the stairs. Stunned by her audacity, he picked up his pace. Brandy raced ahead and was beside her as Sabelle padded past the kitchen breakfast bar, trailing fingers over the back of the couch as she took in her surroundings.
His apartment was a loft that stretched over Love’s. One room with a wall of windows, it had a spacious, open feel that suited him. Her gaze lingered on the screen sectioning off his bedroom before moving to the clock on the microwave. The digital display read 2:30. He saw her note it with a deep breath and a nod.
“There’s still time.” She faced him with determination. “I’ve come with a warning. Your life is in danger.”
He might have smiled if she hadn’t looked so distressed. “Okay,” he said carefully.
She nodded, apparently satisfied with that response. “Good. I’d hoped you’d understand. We need to leave here.” She glanced at the clock again. “Quickly.”
“And go where?” he said, not understanding at all.
“Away from here. Here is where it happens.”
Ryan studied her, suddenly weary to the bone. Ever since his brother’s bizarre death—Murder? Suicide? Ryan doubted he’d ever know the truth—Love’s had been a tourist attraction for lunatics. Fanatics who thought that Ryan’s twin brother and sister were blessed by the heavens or cursed by demons had always been on the fringe of their lives. Reece and Roxanne had died—and miraculously been revived—more than once. It went with the territory.
Some of the crazies were dangerous, others merely curious. He didn’t know which camp Sabelle fell into, but the sooner he got her out of here, the better.
“You don’t believe me,” Sabelle said with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s in your nature to be suspicious. You have trust issues.”
Maybe so. But that was his business. “What’s this danger I’m supposedly in?” he asked politely.
“Death,” she replied almost eagerly. “Yours, I mean.”
He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “Listen, Sabelle. I’d like to help you, get you someplace safe. How about back home?” Or the psych ward you escaped from?
“I can never go home,” she said vehemently.
He lifted his hands, palms out. “Fair enough. But you can’t stay here. I just pulled a twelve-hour shift. I’m tired. All I want is a hot shower and bed.”
Her eyes widened and she shot another quick glance at the screen that hid his bed. Something darkly erotic flashed across her features. For a moment, he couldn’t look away.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she said, her voice breathy and low, “but this isn’t a game or a joke. You can’t just take a shower and pretend it will go away. Do you think I would risk so much to warn you if there was nothing to fear?”
“I think you’re a confused woman who needs some help.”
“I’m not confused. An explosion will decimate this building sometime between now and three a.m. Your apartment will be incinerated. Boom. Gone.”
“Between now and three a.m.,” he repeated, deadpan.
“Stop it. Stop pretending disbelief you don’t feel.”
“Oh, I feel it.”
Narrowed eyes were the only clue that she’d heard him. She didn’t argue, she didn’t try to add details to support her claim. Most liars did.
“You’ll need the money you have stashed beneath the floorboards in your bedroom,” she said with a challenging glance. “Clothes, of course. And Brandy. We’ll need her.”
“We?”
“I don’t know how much time we have, Ryan. I only know that by three it will all be over. For both of us.”
She was all-in when it came to this fantasy quest, and her conviction planted a seed of doubt that startled him.
“You are more important than you know, Ryan.”
The laugh he’d tried for earlier finally emerged and his doubt waned. The poor woman was definitely delusional.
“I own a pub. Actually, I own about one-fiftieth of a pub. The bank owns the rest. I spend most of my days and nights behind a bar, serving drinks to people who have less of a life than I do. Unless it’s critical that the drunks get their next drink, I’m the opposite of important.”
With a superior-sounding sniff, she moved behind the Japanese screen and into his bedroom. Dumbfounded, Ryan followed, watching her open his closet. She yanked his backpack off the top shelf and stuffed his favorite jeans, a T-shirt, and a flannel button-down into it.
As she turned, she caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and did a double take. For a moment, she stared at her pale face like she’d expected to see someone else looking back.
He tilted his head to the side, watching her watch herself. She saw the movement and quickly glanced away, but her cheeks pinked up and she avoided looking at him. She began opening his drawers like she had every right.
And instead of throwing her out on her pretty little ass, he watched her, still trying to figure out what to do about her. Wrestle his phone away? Humor her back outside and lock the doors behind her?
The storm boomed so loud it shook the walls. He couldn’t throw her out in this.
In his top drawer, she found his briefs, added a pair to the pack, and pulled open the next drawer. She rummaged until she retrieved some basketball shorts and held them up to her hips. When she tugged them on, she gave him an eyeful of long legs and bare behind.
She turned and busted him staring. His gaze snared hers and something darkened in the uncertain blue. Neither one of them looked away.
“Do you have shoes I could borrow?” she asked, her voice husky.
He pointed to the other closet door. It took her a moment to turn around and slide the door open. She eyed his size 14 shoes dubiously before she spotted a pair of flip-flops on the floor and slipped her feet into them.
“Get the money, Ryan.”
Crazy with sprinkles on top. That’s what this was.
“You planning on robbing me?” he managed to say.
She faced him. “Is that what you think? Are you afraid I’m going to tackle you and steal all your precious belongings?”
She was swimming in his big shirt. The shorts hung down to her knees and the flip-flops looked like snowshoes on her feet. She had the threat potential of a puppy.
Again he wished he could muster a laugh. Instead, “No” emerged in a wooden tone.
“Get your stuff and wait it out on the sidewalk with me, then. If nothing happens by three, you can call your police and wash your hands of me.”
She handed him his phone like a gesture of good faith. He took it.
“Or I could do that now and save myself the trouble.”
“Yes. You could do that. But we’d both pay the price for your stupidity.”
“Did you just call me—”
“You are in danger,” she said, enunciating each syllable sharply. “You’re going to die if you don’t trust me. How much clearer can I be? I know you’re the kind of man who has to see something to believe it. But why not see it from the outside with me?”
With that, she grabbed his backpack and dropped it at his feet.
He still hadn’t moved, but Sabelle didn’t wait. She crossed to the front door with a stiff back and an air of determination, ridiculous in her borrowed getup and yet somehow . . . convincing.
“How would you know what kind of man I am?” he asked softly.
The question made her pause. She shot a guarded glance over her shoulder, eyes wide and lips parted. Bravado and hunger stared back at him, a combination so mystifying that it shut his mouth.
So what if she was right? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to have happened in the past month. Hell, in the last week. Even as common sense told him that it was more likely she had someone waiting downstairs to relieve him of the money she’d insisted he pack, he felt himself giving in.
She’d said beneath the floorboards. If she already knew where he kept the money, why not just break in and steal it while he’d been out for his run? Why the elaborate naked-and-afraid act?
“I see you thinking,” she said. “You’re deciding on all the reasons not to trust me. But that’s wasting time you don’t have. Look at the clock, Ryan.” She paused. “Please.”
It was the hitch in her voice that unplugged his common sense and pushed him to the edge.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “Let me get a shirt.”
The tremulous smile she couldn’t hide fast enough called him a fool, but the baby blues sent another coded message he couldn’t be sure he was reading right. He ducked behind the screen that divided the rooms and pried up the floorboard by his bed with a long flathead screwdriver he kept in his nightstand drawer just for that purpose. He stuffed the whole hard-earned $10K into his backpack, shrugged on a shirt, and snagged jackets for both of them on his way out. What could it hurt to sit in his truck and wait it out? If nothing else, maybe he’d get to the bottom of her story.
She waited impatiently by the door, watching the clock switch numbers. Brandy sat at her feet, ready to go. According to Sabelle, they had less than fifteen minutes to get out of there before the whole place was incinerated.
“Hurry,” she said and stepped onto the landing without a backward glance.
Shaking his head, Ryan clicked his tongue for Brandy to follow and locked the door behind him.
The Three Fates of Ryan Love
Ryan heard the first of the sirens as he turned into the home stretch of his run. He ran most every night after he closed Love’s, the bar he owned with his two sisters. The exercise usually cleared his mind, but not tonight. A storm had started brewing as he’d clocked the first mile and the kind of cold that was indigenous to the desert seeped beneath his skin and made old wounds ache. The glowering sky pressed down on him, sinister against the excessive Christmas lights twinkling merrily around every palm tree and the festive banners that snapped in the bitter wind. Instead of clearheaded, Ryan felt chased.
His German shepherd, Brandy, ran at his side, ears up and swiveling. Even she didn’t seem to be enjoying the ritual as much as usual.
Glad when Love’s came into sight, Ryan slowed his steps and tried to catch his breath. The sirens were closer now and a police car flew past to join more flashing lights about a block down the street. It was after two in the morning, but Mill Avenue near Arizona State University never really slept. Probably drunks out causing trouble. Maybe even the three he’d thrown out of Love’s that night. They’d left him with a bruised face and sore ribs.
Watching through the spitting rain, Ryan cut across an alley and into the parking lot behind Love’s. That’s when he heard the woman scream.
He spun to face the nook between the south wall of Love’s and the cinder-block barrier that hid the side door to the kitchen. He peered into the dark recess, sure that’s where the sound had come from, but nothing moved. Brandy’s ear swiveled as she barked, trying to sniff and see everything at once. She didn’t seem able to pinpoint the scream either.
The next scream echoed around him at the same time pressure filled the space behind his ears and made him feel unbalanced. He stumbled back as lightning flashed and a tremendous bolt snapped down right in front of him. When he looked again, a woman sat inside the small, sheltered alcove with her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. Seconds ago, only darkness had waited there. Long, dark hair gleamed under the muted light, spilling over her shoulders and hiding her face. Her skin had an alabaster sheen. There was a lot of it, too. He frowned. She was naked.
With a hand signal for Brandy to sit, Ryan wiped the rain from his face and approached her cautiously. The walls and awning shielded her from the rain, but not the cold. She shivered violently as he crouched down in front of her.
“Hey,” he said in a soft voice. “How’d you get here? Are you okay?”
She looked up with wide, clear eyes as blue as a desert sky. Even in the dark the color was vivid and they shimmered with something he couldn’t begin to define. Long lashes the same rich shade as her hair framed them and accented their luminescent glow. They tilted at the corners, catlike. The dark wings of her brows drew focus to the shape of her face, the smooth line of her nose, the dusting of freckles that covered it.
He dropped his gaze and saw a raw scrape on her shin, another up high on her thigh. A third marred her shoulder. He thought of the sirens and police he’d heard. Was she involved in whatever had been happening?
“Ryan?” she whispered, chasing that thought right out of his head.
The sound of his name on her lips raised the hairs at the back of his neck, somehow trumping everything else. Like who she was, what she was doing here stark naked in the middle of the night.
“You know me?”
He peered into her face, sure he’d never seen her before.
“You’re Ryan,” she said with more certainty.
Her gaze shifted to something behind him. Ryan looked over his shoulder to find Brandy right at his heels with perked ears and a wet, wagging tail, watching the woman. The woman stared back at his dog with what Ryan would swear was wonder.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Sabelle,” she replied, still watching his dog.
Brandy got down on her belly, inching closer in the most unthreatening manner a ninety-five-pound German shepherd could manage.
“Where are your clothes, Sybil?”
She shook her head, pulling her gaze from Brandy to look him in the eye. “S’belle,” she corrected. “Not Sybil.”
“S’belle,” he pronounced carefully. “Why are you naked?”
A hot flush turned her skin pink a second before she lied. “I don’t remember.”
She shifted with agitation and Brandy made a sound low in her throat. Not aggressive. Consoling. The dog had managed to army-crawl close enough to put her big fluffy head on the woman’s lap. Sabelle’s lips parted as she settled her fingers on Brandy’s silky black ear.
She shivered and goose bumps rose on her skin. Ryan quickly reached over his head and pulled off his shirt. It was warm from his body, but damp from the rain. It would cover her, though.
“Here, put this on,” he said, handing it over.
She accepted it, fingering the soft fabric before she pressed it to her face, smelling it. The action was so surprising that at first all he could think to do was mumble, “Sorry, it’s all I have,” while hot embarrassment flooded his face.
“It smells like you,” she said.
Like it was a good thing.
His mouth opened but no words came out. He lowered his eyes while she pulled the shirt over her head. When he looked back, she was covered, thank God. His shirt was huge on her. The shoulders drooped to her elbows and the long sleeves hid her hands.
She huddled in it, her gaze roaming his face, lingering on the cut over his nose, the puffy skin on his cheek, and his swollen jaw. He almost felt the quicksilver stare on his bare chest and bruised ribs. He must look like a big, ugly thug to her.
She had bruises and scrapes of her own. He could only hope that her wounds had come from something less violent than his had.
“What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?” he asked.
“No,” she said with a definitive shake of her head.
“You screamed.”
“I didn’t expect it to be painful.”
“You didn’t expect what to be painful?”
She flinched at his sharp tone. “Coming here.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Here—in the parking lot in the middle of the night—wasn’t anyplace she should be, but she’d obviously been hurt, was probably in shock. She might not even know where she was. He dug his phone out of his pocket and leaned in so the rain running down his back wouldn’t get it wet as he dialed 911.
The storm picked up its pace, hitting the asphalt with such force that raindrops bounced and pooled, pounding the awning overhead with fury. Storms moved fast in Arizona, but this was insane.
“Who are you calling?” she asked.
“The police. They’ll—”
She snatched the phone out of his hand and hit the screen repeatedly until the ring cut off.
Ryan’s mouth was open again. “Okay, now it’s getting weird.”
“No police,” she said. “What time is it?”
When he didn’t answer immediately, she repeated the question sharply.
“I don’t know. Two, three in the morning?”
Her eyes rounded and she scrambled to get her feet under her. “We need to go. Now, Ryan.”
She stood, long legs protruding from his big shirt. Her hair brushed her shoulders and impatiently she swiped it back. Standing as well, Ryan reached out to steady her as she swayed.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured gently. “Slow down. Take a breath. You’re safe now. Let’s get the police here. They’ll get everything worked out.”
“No police,” she insisted. “They can’t help.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Neither could he. “Can I have my phone back?”
She turned and started out of the shelter.
“Wait,” he said. “Sabelle Whoever-You-Are. Wait.”
She seemed more alert, more focused, but she’d obviously hit her head. She tucked her arms tight, hands jammed under her pits and head bent as she gingerly picked her way through the glass, gravel, mud, and puddles covering the parking lot, ignoring him until she stepped on something sharp and gasped.
“Hold up. Would you stop?” he said, exasperated. “Let me help you.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the back door before she could protest. She wasn’t a big woman, but she was lush with all the right curves in all the right places. She felt solid against his chest and soft in ways that played games with his traitorous thoughts and made him glad for the bracing rain. Brandy escorted them like a devoted admirer, her wet nose brushing Sabelle’s feet whenever the dog could reach them. Ryan paused before opening the door, half convinced he was making a big mistake. This was the kind of thing you saw on the news where some dumb putz just trying to help ended up accused of wrongdoing.
He jockeyed her weight as he fumbled his keys from his pocket into the lock. Sabelle tightened her arms around him, pressing all those feminine curves closer as Ryan tried valiantly not to notice.
Darkness clustered just inside and obscured the stairs all the way up. The rain boomed against the roof and the cold made plumes of their breath. His skin felt icy.
Except where he held Sabelle. She was like a furnace heating his bare chest.
The door slammed shut behind them as Ryan hit the lights and set Sabelle on her feet again. She continued to hold on to him, staring into his face as if to memorize his features. For all her crazy talk, her eyes looked clear and focused in the dim glow.
Then she twisted away and started up the stairs to his apartment without asking or waiting for an invitation. With a muttered curse, Ryan started to follow, but fingers of disquiet played down his spine, making him pause.
The area under the stairs to his apartment served as storage for cases of beer and other supplies. A door straight ahead made a convenient back entrance to the bar, just as the door behind him was a quick shortcut to the parking lot. Usually the stairwell smelled of cardboard, hops, and old french fries. Familiar, comfortable odors that lingered in most bars. Tonight a whiff of rotten eggs hung over it.
Sabelle was already at his front door, waiting. He’d figured out what smelled after he dealt with her. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and let herself in before he made it up the stairs. Stunned by her audacity, he picked up his pace. Brandy raced ahead and was beside her as Sabelle padded past the kitchen breakfast bar, trailing fingers over the back of the couch as she took in her surroundings.
His apartment was a loft that stretched over Love’s. One room with a wall of windows, it had a spacious, open feel that suited him. Her gaze lingered on the screen sectioning off his bedroom before moving to the clock on the microwave. The digital display read 2:30. He saw her note it with a deep breath and a nod.
“There’s still time.” She faced him with determination. “I’ve come with a warning. Your life is in danger.”
He might have smiled if she hadn’t looked so distressed. “Okay,” he said carefully.
She nodded, apparently satisfied with that response. “Good. I’d hoped you’d understand. We need to leave here.” She glanced at the clock again. “Quickly.”
“And go where?” he said, not understanding at all.
“Away from here. Here is where it happens.”
Ryan studied her, suddenly weary to the bone. Ever since his brother’s bizarre death—Murder? Suicide? Ryan doubted he’d ever know the truth—Love’s had been a tourist attraction for lunatics. Fanatics who thought that Ryan’s twin brother and sister were blessed by the heavens or cursed by demons had always been on the fringe of their lives. Reece and Roxanne had died—and miraculously been revived—more than once. It went with the territory.
Some of the crazies were dangerous, others merely curious. He didn’t know which camp Sabelle fell into, but the sooner he got her out of here, the better.
“You don’t believe me,” Sabelle said with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s in your nature to be suspicious. You have trust issues.”
Maybe so. But that was his business. “What’s this danger I’m supposedly in?” he asked politely.
“Death,” she replied almost eagerly. “Yours, I mean.”
He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “Listen, Sabelle. I’d like to help you, get you someplace safe. How about back home?” Or the psych ward you escaped from?
“I can never go home,” she said vehemently.
He lifted his hands, palms out. “Fair enough. But you can’t stay here. I just pulled a twelve-hour shift. I’m tired. All I want is a hot shower and bed.”
Her eyes widened and she shot another quick glance at the screen that hid his bed. Something darkly erotic flashed across her features. For a moment, he couldn’t look away.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she said, her voice breathy and low, “but this isn’t a game or a joke. You can’t just take a shower and pretend it will go away. Do you think I would risk so much to warn you if there was nothing to fear?”
“I think you’re a confused woman who needs some help.”
“I’m not confused. An explosion will decimate this building sometime between now and three a.m. Your apartment will be incinerated. Boom. Gone.”
“Between now and three a.m.,” he repeated, deadpan.
“Stop it. Stop pretending disbelief you don’t feel.”
“Oh, I feel it.”
Narrowed eyes were the only clue that she’d heard him. She didn’t argue, she didn’t try to add details to support her claim. Most liars did.
“You’ll need the money you have stashed beneath the floorboards in your bedroom,” she said with a challenging glance. “Clothes, of course. And Brandy. We’ll need her.”
“We?”
“I don’t know how much time we have, Ryan. I only know that by three it will all be over. For both of us.”
She was all-in when it came to this fantasy quest, and her conviction planted a seed of doubt that startled him.
“You are more important than you know, Ryan.”
The laugh he’d tried for earlier finally emerged and his doubt waned. The poor woman was definitely delusional.
“I own a pub. Actually, I own about one-fiftieth of a pub. The bank owns the rest. I spend most of my days and nights behind a bar, serving drinks to people who have less of a life than I do. Unless it’s critical that the drunks get their next drink, I’m the opposite of important.”
With a superior-sounding sniff, she moved behind the Japanese screen and into his bedroom. Dumbfounded, Ryan followed, watching her open his closet. She yanked his backpack off the top shelf and stuffed his favorite jeans, a T-shirt, and a flannel button-down into it.
As she turned, she caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and did a double take. For a moment, she stared at her pale face like she’d expected to see someone else looking back.
He tilted his head to the side, watching her watch herself. She saw the movement and quickly glanced away, but her cheeks pinked up and she avoided looking at him. She began opening his drawers like she had every right.
And instead of throwing her out on her pretty little ass, he watched her, still trying to figure out what to do about her. Wrestle his phone away? Humor her back outside and lock the doors behind her?
The storm boomed so loud it shook the walls. He couldn’t throw her out in this.
In his top drawer, she found his briefs, added a pair to the pack, and pulled open the next drawer. She rummaged until she retrieved some basketball shorts and held them up to her hips. When she tugged them on, she gave him an eyeful of long legs and bare behind.
She turned and busted him staring. His gaze snared hers and something darkened in the uncertain blue. Neither one of them looked away.
“Do you have shoes I could borrow?” she asked, her voice husky.
He pointed to the other closet door. It took her a moment to turn around and slide the door open. She eyed his size 14 shoes dubiously before she spotted a pair of flip-flops on the floor and slipped her feet into them.
“Get the money, Ryan.”
Crazy with sprinkles on top. That’s what this was.
“You planning on robbing me?” he managed to say.
She faced him. “Is that what you think? Are you afraid I’m going to tackle you and steal all your precious belongings?”
She was swimming in his big shirt. The shorts hung down to her knees and the flip-flops looked like snowshoes on her feet. She had the threat potential of a puppy.
Again he wished he could muster a laugh. Instead, “No” emerged in a wooden tone.
“Get your stuff and wait it out on the sidewalk with me, then. If nothing happens by three, you can call your police and wash your hands of me.”
She handed him his phone like a gesture of good faith. He took it.
“Or I could do that now and save myself the trouble.”
“Yes. You could do that. But we’d both pay the price for your stupidity.”
“Did you just call me—”
“You are in danger,” she said, enunciating each syllable sharply. “You’re going to die if you don’t trust me. How much clearer can I be? I know you’re the kind of man who has to see something to believe it. But why not see it from the outside with me?”
With that, she grabbed his backpack and dropped it at his feet.
He still hadn’t moved, but Sabelle didn’t wait. She crossed to the front door with a stiff back and an air of determination, ridiculous in her borrowed getup and yet somehow . . . convincing.
“How would you know what kind of man I am?” he asked softly.
The question made her pause. She shot a guarded glance over her shoulder, eyes wide and lips parted. Bravado and hunger stared back at him, a combination so mystifying that it shut his mouth.
So what if she was right? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to have happened in the past month. Hell, in the last week. Even as common sense told him that it was more likely she had someone waiting downstairs to relieve him of the money she’d insisted he pack, he felt himself giving in.
She’d said beneath the floorboards. If she already knew where he kept the money, why not just break in and steal it while he’d been out for his run? Why the elaborate naked-and-afraid act?
“I see you thinking,” she said. “You’re deciding on all the reasons not to trust me. But that’s wasting time you don’t have. Look at the clock, Ryan.” She paused. “Please.”
It was the hitch in her voice that unplugged his common sense and pushed him to the edge.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “Let me get a shirt.”
The tremulous smile she couldn’t hide fast enough called him a fool, but the baby blues sent another coded message he couldn’t be sure he was reading right. He ducked behind the screen that divided the rooms and pried up the floorboard by his bed with a long flathead screwdriver he kept in his nightstand drawer just for that purpose. He stuffed the whole hard-earned $10K into his backpack, shrugged on a shirt, and snagged jackets for both of them on his way out. What could it hurt to sit in his truck and wait it out? If nothing else, maybe he’d get to the bottom of her story.
She waited impatiently by the door, watching the clock switch numbers. Brandy sat at her feet, ready to go. According to Sabelle, they had less than fifteen minutes to get out of there before the whole place was incinerated.
“Hurry,” she said and stepped onto the landing without a backward glance.
Shaking his head, Ryan clicked his tongue for Brandy to follow and locked the door behind him.
Erin Welcome to The
Reading Frenzy.
Thank you for having
me as a guest. I love talking to readers
and you asked some great questions!
Tell my readers about
The Three Fates of Ryan Love
The Three Fates of
Ryan Love is the second book in my new Beyond series. (The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love was the
first in the series). The series centers
on the Love family and the unique tie they have to the Beyond, a place that is
both heaven and hell . . . and everything in between.
In Ryan’s story, a
renegade Seer has broken the laws of the Beyond to save Ryan’s life, but once
she meets Ryan, everything changes. Ryan steals her heart and makes her long to
be human. But corruption is seeping out of the Beyond and Sabelle must choose
between saving the fate of mankind and following her heart. Is she Ryan’s fate
or the destiny he won’t survive?
Erin this is book 2.5
in your new The Beyond Series.
How are the books connected?
How are the books connected?
The books are
connected by the Love siblings, each one with his or her own special gift, and
by the Beyond and the terrifying entities that populate it. The series pits good against evil, but it
also calls into question the definition of evil and the power of love to change
it.
Should they be read
in order?
Well, that’s the
million dollar question. If you’re like
me, you’ll want to read them in order because, well, that’s what order is all
about, (ha ha). However each story
stands alone and I’ve done my best to write them so they can be read any way
the reader chooses.
Erin on your bio it
says that you write dark paranormal romance for the thinking reader.
Does this mean that your novels are unpredictable, that they don’t have happy endings? Could you please elaborate a bit?
Does this mean that your novels are unpredictable, that they don’t have happy endings? Could you please elaborate a bit?
It means my stories
have twists. Many of my readers say they
love how they can never figure out what’s going to happen next in my books . .
. until it happens. The dark paranormal is pretty
self-explanatory—my paranormal has humor, but they aren’t the kind of story
that’s going to make you laugh. This
goes for my time travel as well.
As for a happy
ending . . . . I love a happy ending and I hate when the couple who has gone
through hell and back is cheated out of it.
I don’t think I could write a story like that even if I wanted to . . .
which I don’t. However, not everyone in
the book gets that golden ticket and there may be
tears along the way to my hero and heroine getting their HEA.
Erin you write
paranormal romance, what genre do you like to read?
I don’t read much of
my own genre, mainly because I’ve had too many close calls where I’ve started a
book with a similar premise as my WIP and had to close it so my ideas don’t brush against
theirs.
So now I read other
romance.
My go-to, comfort
food books are historical romance, especially Regency. I love them.
What’s the last
really good book you’ve recommended?
If you like
historical romance, Kris Kennedy’s Defiant is one of my favorite books and I
recommend it all the time. Jennifer
Ashley’s The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie is another I loved. (It’s the first in her Mackenzies series and
amazing). Gini Koch’s Alien series is a
hoot and Erin Kellison’s Reveler series is terrific, too—although she writes
dark paranormal too so I have to read her in between my own books—never when
I’m working on one myself.
Most romance authors
are pro-HEA but there are a few who don’t think that it’s a be-all end-all part of a romance novel.
What’s your opinion?
What’s your opinion?
I don’t think
everyone in the story gets to ride off into the sunset. I just don’t.
However, unless there is a very compelling reason to withhold the HEA, I
think the hero and heroine should have it.
It’s what the book is about, right?
Learning how to love, yourself and others. While fighting off whatever paranormal
beasties are trying to stop them, of course.
That said, I have
two books that had dual story lines—one is a reincarnation story, the other a
ghost story. In both of these, I tried
and I tried and I tried to make the HEA happen for everyone but there just
wasn’t a way. The story would have been
ruined by forcing something that wasn’t meant to be.
Other than that,
you’ll find a HEA in all of them . . . but it probably won’t be tied up with a
neat little bow.
Erin there is a
Scholarship button on your website that leads to the 2015 SDSU scholarship
winner.
Can you tell us a bit about this?
Can you tell us a bit about this?
In another life, I
worked for San Diego State University and helped with their writers’ conference
as part of my job. It was a great
experience and connected me with my own dreams.
I met my first
editor there. I sold my first book
because of that meeting. I learn
something new about my craft each year from the conference.
I continued to
contribute to the conference even after I left San Diego and moved to Arizona
because I wanted to help other writers realize their dreams, as I had. I started giving away a scholarship to the
conference about 10 years ago and have given one every year since. Last year, I was named the Conference
Director and now I work to bring in the best speakers possible. I still give away the scholarship and will
continue to do so as long as I can.
Erin how long have
you been writing?
My first book was
published in 1994. (I was twelve, of
course.) But I am now on my 21st
year of being a published writer. I’ve
written for Avon, Berkley and Pocket Books during that time. Pocket Books is my current home where I have
a fabulous editor who always pushes me to dig a little deeper and tell the
story right.
How did your love for
writing begin?
I think I started my
first book in 4th grade.
Before that, I was writing poems and descriptions. My love affair with the written word is a lifelong
thing. I can’t imagine not writing. Ever.
One of these days I hope to learn to spell, too. J
Thank you for
answering these questions. Good luck with the new novel.
Thank you for
thinking of me and having me as a guest!
Are your author
events/signings listed on your website?
Ummm . . . . You know, they should be, but I think I
forgot to update this year. I’ll be
speaking at Arizona State
University’s Writers Conference Feb 21 and I’ll be
signing (and speaking) all weekend at the Tucson Festival of
Books with hundreds of other authors
(March 14 & 15).
Connect with Erin - Website - Facebook - Twitter
Erin Quinn lives in Arizona with her husband, two daughters, and three dogs (all of whom have made debuts in her stories—the dogs, that is, not the husband and kids).
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I am totally loving the "Love Family" already and I haven't even met them yet. This sounds like a great series and one I must try!
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing this Debbie and as always, wonderful interview! I hope you have a fabulous weekend!! :D
I know, wow you should see my tbr pile Ali, this novel is going on it!
DeleteHave a great weekend too!
Hi Debbie--I thought I left a comment here earlier, but I must have done something wrong. (story of my life, ha ha).
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I just wanted to say that you asked awesome questions and thank you again for having me!
Erin, thanks for stopping by and commenting. I love connecting with the authors I love.
DeleteThank You!!
Cool. Imagine publishing at age twelve. Wow. How have we missed you?
ReplyDeleteI know. She's one of my favorites :)
DeleteI haven't read this author yet but I really want too :) thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteHi Erin, fingers crossed for you!
DeleteI'm a historical junkie too but I do like venturing out into all the others too. Sounds pretty good to me :D I've read in her Mists of Ireland series and enjoyed those :)
ReplyDeleteHi Anna, yes I really loved that series too!
Deletenever read this author
ReplyDeleteWell bn here's your chance ;)
DeleteYou have me curious about the Love family and the Beyond. This is new to me series that I will add to my wishlist, Lovely interview, I love getting insider deets.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kim, and you know I love giving them ;)
Delete